


psalm of quartz

by sophluorescent



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, M/M, Pain/Violence, Past Byun Baekhyun/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-10-14 05:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophluorescent/pseuds/sophluorescent
Summary: Jongin’s dreams are beginning to feel far more real—almost as if the dangers in them follow him into the waking world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’d love to give a huge thanks to all of the mods for being so accommodating this round. I actually started with a separate prompt, wrote about 10k worth of it, and realized it just wasn’t going to work, so I switched to a self-prompt in the hopes that I would still be able to complete a fic for our ethereal boys.
> 
> And, I ended up with this. I’m not too sure how I feel about it quite yet, but I am proud of it, and I’m certainly glad to have finished it. It’s changed and warped and it might be a little confusing to follow, but the original concept was one I loved.
> 
> Hopefully, you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I think in time, I’ll come back to it and give it a sequel or a companion work at the very least, but for now, I’m proud. 
> 
> ** I would like to note that the djinn referenced in this work do not reflect djinn as they appear in various religions. They are of a similar concept but the ones in this work do not stay true to what various religions teach about djinn. I mean no disrespect to the cultures from whence the name/concept comes from.
> 
> Again, thank you to all the mods and to all of you readers, I’m very glad to share this with you all.

The needle is threaded carefully, with a precision lended only by practiced, knowing hands. He stands in the doorway and watches, fighting the urge to step forward and rise up on his toes to see over the figure’s shoulder. It is almost teasing, the way they block his sight. His nails dig into the palms of his hand, his gaze flitting down to the dirt underfoot. He doesn’t know where he is or how he got to this point; remembers only what felt like hours of labyrinth, twists and turns that seemed to go nowhere, but he hadn’t been curious—nor fearful—until he’d seen the flickering light of the candle and the silhouette cast upon the floor.

He shifts on his feet again. The figure releases a long-winded sigh and turns their head to the side, not enough that they would be able to see Jongin where he stands in the doorway, but enough to make the man—the boy—freeze in trepidation. The feeling soon dissipates. His curiosity returns with abandon, reckless, passionate abandon, and he steps into the room. 

The second the flesh of his toe touches the dirt across the threshold, the room explodes into fractals of light and sound, piercing him so painfully that his body spasms. Thousands of colors warp his vision. Hundreds of sounds, memories of things he’s heard and things he’s yet to hear, threaten to deafen him. He wails, falling to his knees, his head reeling, his eyes searching, searching, finding. 

The figure turns, a thread of glittering, golden thread woven through their fingers, the needle held precariously between their pointer and thumb. For a moment, they are neither male nor female, decidedly dream-like, difficult to place through his rippling vision, then Jongin decides they are male as much as he is. His hair is long, disheveled and interspersed with beads of gold and quartz, threads of gold and red. The figure smiles with teeth of glass. His eyes are pits, dark and sanguine, alluring in a deceitful way. Jongin cannot look away from his eyes, feels himself falling, falling, fa—

He awakes with flailing limbs, unconcerned of the man curled up into his side. It’s a chain reaction, Jongin waking up terrified, Jongin waking up Sehun, Sehun waking up in just the same manner of terror. His breath comes in staccato rhythm. Sehun rolls off of the bed pallet, away from Jongin’s wild wakening. 

“Are you all right?” Sehun questions. Jongin turns to look at him, eyes wide. He lets his breath slow.

“Yeah- yeah. It was just a nightmare.” He says. Everything’s quiet… apart from the snuffling coming from the doorway. Both of them look over, seemingly noticing the sound at the same time, to see one of Junmyeon’s dogs, Hyeond, rifling through their basket of breakfast. Both of them jump up at the exact same time, throwing their hands up as a way to scare off the dog.

The dog is unperturbed until Jongin scrambles over to it and grips it by its scruff. Then, and only then, does it acknowledge them, and it does so with a flash of glittering, glassy teeth. The animal snarls at Jongin as it bites his hand, its teeth digging into his skin like shards of glass. Jongin howls and bats at the dog with his other hand. It releases his hand and snarls at both he and Sehun before rifling through the basket again. It fishes out what was probably a fresh loaf of bread and then promptly leaves the bedroom. Sehun curses at it while Jongin sits back, pulling his hand close to his chest, cradling it.

The pain is an aching sort, something that he’s sure will bother him when he goes to sketch later, but that won’t put him out of commission. He’s glad the animal hadn’t shredded it any deeper or even broken any of his fingers. If it had, he doesn’t know if he’d have been able to continue his apprenticeship, not with how much precision it required. 

Sehun crawls over to him, sliding his hand down Jongin’s arm and coaxing him to let him see the wound. Jongin lets him take his hand in his and sucks in a breath as Sehun tilts it this way and that. “I don’t think it’s bad!” He says cheerily. Jongin huffs and pulls his hand back. “You should wash it and we can have Myeon bandage it.” Jongin nods and lets Sehun pull him to his feet.

They go to the dining hall side by side, Jongin’s pain getting forgotten as he and Sehun joke together. Junmyeon’s already being served breakfast by some of the indentured servants he’s got in his service. He takes his meals in the dining hall, but sends Sehun’s and Jongin’s upstairs since they tend to want to laze around a little longer. In that case, he looks pleasantly delighted to see them up so early until he spots the little lines of blood running down Jongin’s hand. 

Hyeond snuffles around Junmyeon’s lap, begging innocently for scraps from the table. Jongin resists the urge to ask Junmyeon to sell it and brushes off Junmyeon’s concern, only asking for help to wrap it with a thin bandage to keep it from getting dirty. Junmyeon does so, then motions for both of the apprentices to sit down. His grin replaces his concern, and the low simmer of excitement catches both Jongin and Sehun’s attention.

“The Sovereign’s son is to be wed by the end of the year. The palace would like to impress Tanisian envoy with a new reception hall, one that pays tribute to the Gods of Sanqar but also to the Gods of Tanis. A symbolic merging of cultures. I was contacted about the commission,” Junmyeon begins. Jongin’s gaze snaps up. 

“I politely declined and referred the Crown to my two protégé. You have both been invited to the palace to go over the general details of the commission and to take a look at the spaces you’ll have available to build upon,” Junmyeon continues.

Sehun reacts before Jongin can fully process the information.

“You gave us a job for the palace. Not only that, but a job that is meant to impress a foreign kingdom as well?”

“How highly do you think of us?” Jongin asks, his eyes searching Junmyeon’s face. He feels unbelieving. Such a job comes once in a lifetime, for Junmyeon to place it in their laps takes a great feat of generosity and love. 

“Very highly! What kind of question is that?” Junmyeon asks good-naturedly reaching forward to ruffle Jongin’s hair. He’s still flabbergasted. “Emin Do will be coming to the villa at noon with horses for the both of you. You are to ride to the palace with your supplies and create a few presumptive sketches of the places and motifs you are shown and told about,” he directs, “Sehun will be in charge of the interior design of the altar, chandeliers, carpeting, drapery, you know the drill.”

Sehun nods.

“Jongin, you’ll be in charge of the main structure and structural accenting. You’ll have full direction over building materials and design. You’ve always been gifted with your designs, I have no doubt you’ll mold this particular build into something beautiful. Both of you will be the heads of the project, with the understanding that you must have major decisions approved by the Emin or by the Sovereign himself.” 

The first thing that filters through to Jongin is the time, “You said he was coming at noon, what time is it now?” 

“Noon,” Junmyeon says with a comical twist of his lips. Sehun’s head thunks on the table in horror. Jongin, on the other hand, shoves himself away from the table in a flurry. 

“Sehun get up we have to get our supplies, hurry now!” He thinks he hears hoofbeats in the courtyard. He must be imagining them. Emin Do _cannot _be arriving already. Hyeond bounds along after him, before overtaking him, beelining for Jongin’s leather satchel. Jongin roars. “I will _kill you!” _He snarls at the dog. 

He wouldn’t, but Hyeond doesn’t have to know that.

The dog glances back at his voice and, blessedly, forgoes grabbing Jongin’s bag and running with it. Jongin sighs with relief, slinging it over his shoulder and even daring to pat the dog on the head for being _good _for _once. _Then, he leaves to go back to the dining room. Junmyeon’s not there. 

His laugh drifts down the hall. _No. _

“Junmyeon?” Jongin calls out, announcing his appearance. Junmyeon’s stood at the entrance talking to a richly dressed man draped in royal blues of several different, complimentary shades. He looks up at Jongin when Jongin enters the room. Jongin bows on instinct.

“Emin Do, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“And you as well, so I hear? A man gifted by the gods with silver fingers and a boundless mind…” The noble trails off, scanning Jongin’s face for any sign that Junmyeon’s praises are unfounded. He won’t find any doubt. Jongin is aware he’s blessed, the only surprise he’s felt this morning is that Junmyeon would willingly pass up on the type of build that would have him remembered for centuries. 

But, he didn’t doubt his own skills. Emin Do didn’t need to worry. 

“So they say, Sehunnie is very good as well. I think he may be blessed as well,” Jongin jokes lightly as Sehun stumbles into the room, tripping over one of the dogs lying in the hall. Jongin stifles a giggle as the other apprentice straightens up, his face twisting into a comical mask of shock and horror. He bows. Jongin looks away to avoid laughing. Then, he meets Emin Do’s eyes, the nobleman is smiling, seems endeared by the two of them despite their clumsiness. It puts Jongin’s thumping heart at ease and calms his nerves.

“Well, let’s not waste any time, to the palace?” He invites them, gesturing at the door. 

Both apprentices nod and step over the threshold, taking their first step towards a new future.

As they arrive at the castle, Emin Do explains the plans for the wedding. The Prince of Sanqar will wed an Onaran princess and the two cities will enter into a trade alliance along with the wedding. Already, Jongin has great ideas for the reception hall. He’s thinking of great motifs of the fiery Onaran gods dancing amongst the old Sanqarian gods. 

As for design, he’s thinking of something that is reminiscent of Sanqarian architecture, but also a blend of Onaran architecture. High ceilings, intricate detailing, a lot of glass, and something that incorporates the scenery as well.

He has a design in mind even before Emin Do shows them where the wing will be added to the palace. It’s perfect. Really. “That cliff. That’s perfect,” Jongin says in wonder. The sea crashes below them. His attention is on the cliffside, where the palace comes near, but not too close. “We should build it over the cliff. With enough supports and foundations… it would beautiful. Foreign nations would want to wed their children in our hall.” 

Emin Do raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, eventually guiding them away and into the castle. He shows them where they will stay and where they can work. The palace has provided all of the supplies they will need to create their sketches and plans, as well as simple, but comfy living quarters. Everything feels like too much, and yet, Jongin is so excited to get started on the new project.

Eventually, the tour is complete and Jongin immediately settles into work. Sehun sits with him. He’s not as interested in this part of the work. He’s mostly there to give suggestions and to ground Jongin when he gets _too _ambitious. Sehun will take over the interior design of the room, but this, the skeleton and the outward appearance. This is for Jongin to design and execute.

By the time the sun drops in the evening, Jongin has his preliminary plans created. He’ll work on more numbers and calculations in the coming few days, but for now, he rests.


	2. Chapter 2

This place is familiar. It is the first thought to pass through his mind as he blinks open his eyes, a general awareness coming over him. The walls are as impassive as they have always been, but now that he remembers this place, he makes an effort to _look _at them for the very first time. They are like obsidian, reflective of his image, similar to a hall of mirrors. Jongin stares at his reflection for a long while, then looks back down the dark path. He’s lucid. He understands that he is in the dreamscape, and yet, calling this place a mere dream seems _wrong, _as if he’s offending some ancient energy. The stone underneath his feet is cold, unyielding, and at the same time coaxing. He _wants _to explore the labyrinth again. 

He wants to find _that _room again. He trails his fingertips against the right wall, reveling in the perfect smoothness of the stone. He can find no seams in the stone; it is one perfect, straight-line. He turns right at every fork, now deliberately trying to reach the center of the maze, knowing that the only reason he found it in his first dream was pure chance. It takes less time now, though he doesn’t understand how time is relative within this place, before he sees a bright, white light. It is nothing like the flickering, gold light of the candle in his first dream. It is both inviting and foreboding.

He traipses down the rest of the pathway in no real rush before stopping a fingernail’s breadth from the threshold. The room he looks into is a reflection of wealth and prosperity. Jongin’s not sure he’s seen such a view even from the rooms he’s been inside within the palace itself. He gazes across the room onto a balcony overlooking the blackened waves of the sea. The curtains are diaphanous, so sheer as to be nearly invisible. They glitter in the sunlight and waft prettily in the breeze. Jongin’s eyes scan the room quickly, taking it in as an architect and a designer. He’s impressed by the construction of the room, and yet, he sees it as very impersonal. For all the artistry that has gone into the space, it feels stiff and regal, not unlike most of the palace architecture.

His eyes travel to the bed finally. He’s half-surprised to see a figure sprawled out on it, but he’d also half expected them. It is the same naked man from his original dream. His skin seems to shimmer, his hair seems impossibly long and wild. His nails are the same, long, filed to points, and glass. His face is tender, though, even if the rest of his body makes Jongin feel unsettled, as if it is too beautiful to be real. Not to say that his face isn’t beautiful, because it is, but it has small imperfections that make the dream-person seem so much more real.

The little slice of a scar on his cheek reminds him of Sehun’s. The sweaty pieces of hair that stick to his forehead are very human as well. They all sweat. Just as they all bleed. His mouth opens before he can stop it, as if his words were coaxed out, “Hello?” he questions. His voice is loud even if Jongin himself feels hesitant. Immediately the figure’s eyes snap open.

Jongin is held. They are just as void as before, so dark and so without emotion. They alarm him just as much as they captivate him. He presses against the doorway, averting his eyes momentarily. He only looks back once he hears a soft breath. The man is sitting up now, pulling the sheets to cover him somewhat modestly. He cocks his head to the side when he catches Jongin’s eye again. Then he smiles a smile of glass and beckons to Jongin to step inside. He’s weak.

He steps inside the room, but his foot meets no floor. However, he’s committed to his step, there is no salvaging his balance. The figure laughs. Jongin is left with the dull resignation and rising fear of falling, falling_, falling. _He falls into a tunnel of pitch black, unable to see the light from whence he came. Unable to see the floor that will surely snap his neck. He expects to wake up.

He doesn’t. His body hits the ground. He screams, writhing away from what feels like a bed of glass. It is the sensation of thousands of needles running through his flesh. It is _excruciating. _Sweat breaks out all over his body, his nails scramble at the ground. He is blind, cannot see anything. 

He opens his eyes. The pain is but a phantom-memory. He’s not sure if it is real or not. He half expects to roll over in his bed and see Hyeond snuffling through the breakfast he’ll surely have been delivered, but is surprised to realize, with a start, that he _must _still be dreaming. 

“Hello,” the man next to him, in the bed, coos, his voice honeyed and affectionate. Jongin remembers him laughing as he fell though. He’s afraid of the duplicity of this man. He’s more afraid of how much he’s enthralled by him despite it. 

“Hi,” Jongin says softly, watching with growing discomfort as the features on the figure’s face shift. He’s like a mirror, a distortion of a million different faces. The face Jongin picks out most easily though is the face Jongin chooses to believe is real. He files it away to recall at a later date. As he takes in the other man, he becomes aware of the soft tinkling of bells and the whistle of the wind. The whole room is alight with different, delicate, easily dismissed sounds. It creates an ambience that is otherworldly, the golden fractals of light shimmering like diamonds over the figure’s shoulder. “Who are you?”

“Baekhyun,” the man says softly, his voice keeping the same affectionate tone as his greeting. “Give me yours?” He says, his tone doing nothing to give away his intentions. Jongin nearly tells it to him, but quickly bites his tongue, letting the man’s words sink in.

“Kai,” He redirects, trying not to let his nervousness seep into his voice. He needs to play off the lie as truth. He must fail though, because Baekhyun’s serene face warps into malice and frustration in a split second. Jongin blinks and everything returns to normal. However, there is a noticeable tightness to Baekhyun’s jaw, a narrowing to his eyes, a crease to his brow, that tells Jongin he did not imagine the anger on the other’s face. “What is this place?”

“Why should I tell you?” Baekhyun says, almost petulantly. Jongin’s taken aback, his caution when approaching this situation dissipating. He opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his mouth as Baekhyun sits up and flips back the sheets around his body. He wants to close his eyes, but finds that the desire to continue looking is just as strong as the desire not to. Baekhyun tosses a glance over his shoulder, lips pulled into a teasing smirk, and walks out to the balcony overlooking the sea. 

The sun falls upon his skin and dazzles brightly. Once again, Jongin’s reminded of someone unreal. The thought reminds him that he is still within a dream. With that realization, the atmosphere changes. Baekhyun turns around, leaning against the curtained archway. Now, Jongin does avert his eyes, a pale blush creeping up his cheeks. Baekhyun snorts, then, “You’re waking up now,” he says, almost accusingly. Jongin hums. He doesn’t feel like he’s waking up.

He opens his eyes to fix Baekhyun with a look, but is greeted by the rich fabrics that make up his bed pallet. _Huh. _The sound of approaching footsteps coax him out of his confusion and he sits up, reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes with a yawn. Sehun pushes the curtains separating his room from the rest of the wing aside and steps across the threshold. He cocks his head.

“You look like you’ve been through the ringer,” He comments, redirecting from Jongin’s bed on the floor and over to the multiple scrolls and plans laid out for the remainder of the wing. “These are interesting, you think you’ll be able to build off of the rock face easily enough for this?”

“No, it certainly won’t be easy,” Jongin answers, crawling over to the floor plans and sketches Sehun’s perusing. “But think of how beautiful it will be to have a reception hall dedicated to the gods, with a floor of glass to look into the ocean and a ceiling of glass to look to the stars,” He muses pointing out the specific sketches as he mentions them. Sehun’s eyes glaze over as he pictures the beautiful structure. Jongin can see easily that he agrees, it _would _be beautiful.

“Yeah, if you can even complete it. The scaffolding alone is going to be so difficult to moor to the cliffs. You’ll have to ask for the city to request foreign slaves,” Sehun says softly. Jongin shakes his head resolutely.

“Absolutely not. The gods have always condemned slavery. To build a reception hall that includes their images by the hands of slaves would be in bad taste. Do you forget that we’re _not_ all from Nafisa, where slaves _and _sin are plenty?” 

“We did not become the City of Gold without sacrifices,” Sehun drones as if the sentiment’s been drilled into his mind since he was a child. It probably was. Jongin would have to ask Junmyeon to persuade Sehun to stay in Sanqar after his apprenticeship. Either way, Jongin would very much like to move beyond a conversation about slaves and sin and start acting. He’d like to present his plans to the Sovereign as soon as possible, now that he’s woken up and pushed his strange dreams to the back of his mind. He rolls up the plans and wraps them in a thin skin, tying it closed, and standing up. Sehun helps steady him and then waves a hand. “Lead the way, but let us stop at my chambers and pick up the design plans you wanted me to work on.” 

“Of course,” Jongin says, pushing the curtains aside and stepping out into the palace corridor. If all went well, he’d have construction starting by the end of the next week.

“We can send an envoy in search of the glassmakers in the Tachi?” Kyungsoo comments after looking at Jongin’s plans. Jongin grins. The desert’s glassmakers would be lovely to have design the many panels in the floor, walls, and ceiling.

“That would probably yield the best result, yes. And if we hire the scaffolding companies that helped to build the apparatus for the builders working on the spire a few years ago, I’m sure construction can begin in time to finish for your nephew’s wedding,” Jongin continues, pulling out the sheet with the names of the builders and contacts he has in town. Kyungsoo scans the list.

“The cost?”

“I’ve designed as much of the wing as I could from sources Sanqar mines themselves. The fabric choices for curtains, the marble accents, the art and sculpture, all of it comes from Sanqar,” Jongin explains with a grin. “Therefore, we’re only seeking foreign glassmakers and imported gold from Nafisa. But all in all, I’ve tried my best to keep the cost down whilst still lending us the chance for something extravagantly beautiful.”

Kyungsoo looks pleased. Jongin’s glad, he’s sure he could come up with another idea or scale back this one, but he would much prefer not to. Kyungsoo rolls the scrolls back up carefully and lets Jongin fasten them back in the skin to keep them neat and uncreased. Then he takes the bundle in his arms. “I’ll bring it to my brother for him to look at and share with his wife. Really it’s beautiful, Jongin. I suggest letting your contacts know now that we may be needing them,” He says good-naturedly. 

Jongin beams. “Of course, Emin Do,” Jongin agrees, leaving the room with a bounce in his step. Sehun meets him in the hall, grinning. He’s overheard everything. So long as Kyungsoo’s older brother, the Sovereign, approves the designs, they’re all set. 

“This is the project that will ensure we eat for a lifetime!” Sehun exclaims excitedly as they walk to the gardens and then to the stables to fetch two horses. “It’s the type of project that will make us famed in even foreign kingdoms. We can see the world now, Jongin! I’ve always wanted to travel,” he says dreamily. Jongin grins, Sehun’s joy rubbing off on him. He’d like to travel too, he thinks. His heart lies in Sanqar, next to the sea, but he’s sure he could learn so much from the great nations elsewhere in the world. Perhaps he could find his birthplace. Junmyeon’s always said he looks like someone that would come from across the sea. Perhaps Jongin has family there who will recognize his name if his accomplishments ever get to them. 

He mounts his horse and settles into the saddle, waiting for Sehun to do the same, when Hyeond trots out of the palace and to the hooves of his horse. The hound nips at the poor stallion’s ankles and nearly gets kicked for his trouble. Jongin wants to say he imagines the humor on the dog’s face as it skips just out of reach, but he’s not entirely sure he does.

“That dog follows you everywhere, Jongin. Isn’t he Junmyeon’s?” Sehun asks, nodding at the wiry, black hound. Jongin curls his lip in annoyance.

“He is. I’d like for him to stay that way, that dog’s a demon,” he laments before relating to Sehun the several times Hyeond’s tried to rip his hands off. Sehun cackles at the recount as they ride for Junmyeon’s villa to inform him of the news. They weave through the crowds with ease.

Until Hyeond clamps his jaws down on Jongin’s horse’s tail and sends the stallion skittering forward. Jongin’s about to turn and have his horse trample the dog, fury tinting his vision red, when a large piece of stone shatters on the ground just where he’d been, narrowly missing his horse’s rump. The hound stands on the other side of the pile of crumbled brick, his lips pulled into a grin. Jongin’s dumbfounded, Sehun, whose horse had also spooked at the hound’s action, is likewise. The crowd casts them glances. To them, it must look fortuitous. Even to Sehun, it probably looks like a stroke of luck. 

Jongin’s more suspicious. The hound doesn’t act like a dog. It’s too intelligent. Its expressions are too human. He eyes it with an unreadable gaze, then gathers the reins back in his hand and continues his ride, only giving Sehun half a mind as he praises Jongin’s luck. The other half of his mind is spinning with apprehension. His dream comes back to the forefront of his mind. He wonders if they mean something. They can’t, can they?

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Sehun unlatches the gate to Junmyeon’s villa and swings it open with a familiar creaking sound. Hyeond bounds ahead of them, leaping onto one of the walls and up through a window with the type of grace that only belongs to an animal of his pedigree. “That’s probably how he kept getting into your room to eat your breakfast, don’t you think,” Sehun comments as they tether the horses. Jongin gasps.

“You’re so right! I’m going to put wire around it so he can’t jump in anymore. I should have realized sooner,” Jongin says, running a hand through his hair fitfully. Sehun laughs, Jongin joining him after a beat. “I can’t believe it. That damn mutt,” He groans, thinking about how many bites he could have avoided, how many breakfasts he could have had without having to throw out what the dog had already slobbered over. 

He decides to leave that problem for another day though, joining Sehun in calling out Junmyeon’s name, their voices singsonging happily. Arriving at the villa has reminded them both of _why _they even rode out here in the first place. Jongin’s glad to be returning to the home even though he’s only been gone a week or two at most. The palace is grand and inspiring, but it’s not home and could never be. 

He takes a deep breath. He can’t wait to share the news with Junmyeon. They walk into the breezy foyer of the home and then farther inside, noticing Junmyeon relaxing with a drink and a stack of letters in the lounge. He looks up at the sound of their footsteps and smiles. 

“I assume all has gone well since last week?”

“We’ve been hard at work, Myeon,” Jongin says. 

Sehun mutters, “Dreaming more than working,” and ignores the glare Jongin shoots his way. 

“I’d actually like to get in touch with some of our contacts, if you don’t mind. The plans are going up the ladder one more time before they’re finalized, but I’m confident.” Junmyeon’s face gets impossibly brighter, his smile even more blinding. 

“I’m so glad, I’m sure it will be beautiful!” He gets up, placing the letters and papers aside in favor of showing the boys to his office, where he pulls out a carefully curated ledger of his contacts—domestic and foreign. “You’ll find all of my friends notated here with their occupations and prices. Feel free to take it back to the palace with you.” 

Jongin almost wants to tell him about his dreams and about the way he’d nearly died on the way to the villa, but decides against it, not wanting to worry Junmyeon. Especially now that the project was in his hands. Junmyeon could just as easily remove him from it considering that, ultimately, Jongin is only an apprentice. 

“Thank you so much, Junmyeon,” they say in unison. Sehun collects the book in his arms, cradling it carefully. Jongin turns his attention back to Junmyeon, “Are you going to be all right without having us here?” Junmyeon is a master architect, and he isn’t particularly old, but he’s prone to stress—which is why he had the two boys under his wing in the first place.

Junmyeon waves him off with a stern, but kind, look on his face. “I’ll be fine, Jongin. You all will be taken care of at the palace for the duration of the build?” He asks, concerned. Jongin and Sehun both nod, and again Junmyeon falls back at ease. “Good, good. Here, have you two eaten this afternoon? We can go to one of the restaurants down the road,” he suggests.

Jongin almost wants to return to the palace, but he knows that the plans won’t have been looked at yet, so he nods. Sehun looks perfectly happy to be fed, and nods as well. The two of them follow Junmyeon out the door. Hyeond joins them at the road, trotting at Junmyeon’s feet, the hound’s tongue lolling out of its mouth happily. 

Jongin can’t quite shake the feeling that the hound is something more, but he does his best to ignore it for the time being, focusing on the conversation between Junmyeon and Sehun. They’re talking about the growing tension in the North. Dimisna and Tanis have both gone to war, the great nations typical quarreling having escalated to swords and blood. 

In recent months, so many things seem to have escalated, and still, Jongin remains convinced that nothing adverse will come to affect Sanqar. Sehun begins to talk about his homeland, the city of gold, Nafisa, and again, Jongin tunes them out to reminisce on the dreams he’s been having lately. 

He resolves himself to go to sleep earlier. Perhaps then, he won’t have such strange dreams. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he quickens his pace, falling back into step with Junmyeon and Sehun.

This will probably be his last evening of rest before construction begins. He may as well use it.


	3. Chapter 3

When he wakes up in the maze _again—_it must be the third time now—he merely sits where he is, refusing to play the game. The walls are cold to the touch, but they aren’t so uncomfortable that Jongin can’t lean up against them while he waits to wake up. Time seems to stretch on infinitely. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s doing nothing or if time is actually altered in his dream world. Whichever it is, he sits there for a long while, growing increasingly frustrated. 

He absently pinches the skin between his thumb and pointer finger, wondering if it will help him wake. It doesn’t work. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them, expecting to see the pretty palace walls when he does. Nothing, just the same, pitch black darkness that pervades this entire realm.

He _won’t _give in and go looking for the center of that damn maze again. 

That is, until the dirt under his feet begins to writhe.

It is a feeling similar to thousands of worms wriggling up to the surface. At first, the shock keeps Jongin frozen. Then, when the first shard of glass seems to unbury itself and slices delicately across Jongin’s heel, he snaps into motion. The ground is sifting, unearthing long buried tortures, as far as he understands, and he isn’t waking up.

He runs. Pain shoots up his legs every few steps, when he’s unlucky enough to step onto a shard of glass or a rusted, iron blade. The walls too seem to be changing, getting thinner, more claustrophobic the longer he runs. He forgets to follow the right wall, in his panic, and takes a left turn. By the time he realizes his mistake he doesn’t know if he can remedy it, not when the boundless dark may be hiding greater fears of it. 

He resolves to begin following the right wall now that he’s back to his senses, and does so at every turn he makes, but in time, the passage grows wider, enough that Jongin can’t see where the walls are and cannot see where the turns are. He could very well be in a dead-end, for all he knew. 

Panic rises like bile in his throat.

His knees shake. He wants to curl up and forget about it all. 

He _wants_ to wake up.

He feels like he’s being chased, even though he sinks down to his knees, fully prepared to give up and endure the pain while it lasts. The glass cuts him mercilessly. The tinkling of the pieces sifting up against one another feel like laughter. Jongin sobs, a broken noise, born of terror and hurt.

Something _is _following him. He can hear it now, a thick, slow noise not unlike that of a cobra in a pipe. He blinks tears from his eyes and looks around himself, eyes wide, vainly searching for something more than the empty black.

An arm secures around his midriff and hauls him up. He screams in shock, bats at the thing that’s got ahold of him, then realizes that it’s bringing him right into a wall.

They step through it.

Golden sunlight blinds him. The man holding him lets him down onto a familiar bed of feathered pillows and blankets. Jongin’s vision comes back slowly, dark splotches still causing some obscurity, and as it does, he recognizes Baekhyun’s million faces and spectral, prismatic skin. 

“I’m not always the one who invites you to my realm, little Prince,” Baekhyun coos lightly, wiping the tears from Jongin’s cheeks with an uncharacteristic gentleness. “But when you come here, you should _always _come looking for me.”

“You’re cruel too, why should I come looking for you? I’ve not forgotten how you laughed each time I fell in this place!”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t cruel,” Baekhyun says, raising an eyebrow curiously, “but I’m the only thing in this place that will not kill you… as of now.”

“How am I supposed to trust you when you say things like that?” Jongin snaps. Baekhyun cackles, his nails lightly dig into Jongin’s skin, sharp and warning.

“You’re not supposed to trust me,” Baekhyun soothes, smoothing out Jongin’s hair again before he stands and walks to a table covered in an array of what looks like alcohols and perfumes. Fruits are piled high in bowls and cooked meat sit on platters of gold. Baekhyun picks up one of the platters and brings them over to Jongin, sitting back down on the pillows. He holds a grape up to Jongin’s mouth.

Jongin doesn’t part his lips, his eyes narrowing in a mix of both distrust and fear. Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “My realm isn’t the realm of the dead, eating of it will not confine you here.” When Jongin still won’t eat the grape, he shrugs and pops it into his own mouth, humming when the flavor bursts on his tongue.

Jongin watches him cautiously, then, without thinking. “I saw you while I was awake, didn’t I?”

“Hm? _Me_, in your realm?” Baekhyun tries as he picks up a piece of meat in his hands and tears off a bite neatly. 

“Have you always been a mutt?” Jongin says, making a guess. 

Baekhyun arches a brow, his eyes narrowing, “Watch your words, little Prince, don’t forget we’re still within _my _realm. Don’t forget that though I played the fool, I do know your **name.**” His warning effectively cows Jongin back into silence. Then, “I’ve been in the service of the Kims for as long as that family has existed. I suspect over time, though, my masters have become negligent of the power they have within their hands.” He sighs, “After all, when something as powerful as me is under your thumb, wouldn’t you use it to conquer- to rule?”

His voice sounds wistful, a little bitter. Jongin blinks. “So Junmyeon commands you? Is that why you’re in my dreams?”

“No. Junmyeon’s mother released me from my contract when she stole my psalm.” He sounds like he’s lying.

“Your psalm?” Jongin cocks his head. “A psalm is a song, a prayer, no? A song can’t be stolen after it’s been sung. A prayer can’t be stolen after it’s been prayed.”

“I never _did _get to sing it. She plucked it off my tongue and stole it away for her son,” Baekhyun’s voice is very bitter now, the venom seeping into it dangerously. He picks up a glass of wine as if to drink, but gets distracted by his own memories. “But her son was a fool, and I can’t decide whether I am delighted of the fact or if I should lament.”

“How is Junmyeon a fool?” Junmyeon is singly one of the most clever men Jongin’s ever met in his life. 

“He could have kept the psalm, and yet he gave it to a little orphan boy who doesn’t know how to use it.” Baekhyun’s eyes are like daggers on Jongin’s. It takes a moment for his words to sink in, for them to bring back everything that had happened eighteen years ago. 

His mother had bundled him in pretty silks and bangles, bells tinkling on his every step, and had led he and a little girl—his sister—aboard a great trading vessel to go look for a home elsewhere. Away from something, they were _fleeing _something, but the memory is too hazy for Jongin to remember it. Even now, the ship itself is only a haze. His mother and sister faceless.

It took three nights for the sea to reject them. For it to crash o’er the rails and slide across the deck.

It took three nights for them to sink after that.

Jongin only remembers the biting cold, the painful rush of water into his lungs.

And he remembers a song. When Junmyeon had first found him dashed up against the rocks and had climbed to save him himself. He remembers the light, evanescent tune filtering through his terror and confusion. He remembers it putting him at ease.

Baekhyun’s meaning, his accusation, hits Jongin all at once. As the memory shatters, he expects to see Baekhyun, but, as is often the case, he is merely back in his room at the palace.

Hyeond sits across from him, panting. Jongin stares at the animal until he starts seeing double.

Eventually, he’s able to see Baekhyun’s face where the dog’s face should be, but only for a minute second before it reverts back to the image of the hound. The dog’s lips pull back into a smile. Jongin looks away.

He stands, leaving his bed chambers to go into the workroom. It has been perhaps a month since his plans were first approved, and construction is in full swing already. The workers will either already be on site, or will be on site shortly. Jongin will need to meet with the foreman and the engineers before the morning is over.

He runs into Sehun in the hallway. The Nafisee boy grins, holds up a letter in his hands. That must be a response from one of their contacts, and judging by Sehun’s cheer, it’s a good one.

Today an Onaran messenger will be joining them on the construction site, to see how the reception hall is coming along. Jongin has noticed as they work that the days seem longer, that progress seems to be made faster. He doesn’t know what’s causing the strangely expedited building, but he’s glad for it.

“Jongin,” a voice calls from down the hall. The architect and construction advisor looks away from Sehun and down the hall, where Emin Do stands. At his side there is a woman dressed in dark fiery colors, deep reds, oranges, and blacks, gold is strung through her hair, a thin red line bisects her face through the middle. 

Her eyes seem to glimmer, contacts making them abnormal against her dark, ebony skin. “This is Katelo, the Emissary from Onara. She’s come to take a look at the progress made on the reception hall,” Kyungsoo says, walking her up to where Jongin has paused. 

Jongin bows, “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says under his breath. The emissary smiles at him, bows her head as well. Jongin straightens up. “Our workday is just beginning, but you are welcome to come view what has been done, as well as our schedule and construction plans,” he invites.

The two nobles follow him through the hallways into the empty wing of the castle, where construction is taking place. Walls have been knocked down where needed and scaffolding covers much of the hallways the farther they venture into the newest sector of the palace. “This wing was already pre-existing,” Jongin explains, “that way when additions would later be made to the palace, the next builders would be able to refine the connections all the more easily. That is what we are doing here, refining the halls and passages leading into our extended wing.” 

He leads them around a corner and now the open air can clearly be felt rushing through the palace halls. At the end of the hall, the open sea is readily visible. There is more wood here, temporary support before the artisans come later to build the actual walling and flooring. Jongin takes them all the way to the edge, where they can now see the complicated pulley system and the docks created off of the cliff below them. Already, they have been able to build the foundations that run off of the cliff and into the sea. 

The stone stands above the water steadfastly. “We’ve just put in the supports for what will be the glass and marble floors we have planned for the reception hall,” Jongin explains. “Today we will be continuing to frame out the shape of the build, leaving the bulk of the work for the evenings, when the sun does not bear down as hot.”

Some of the workers spot them and wave. Jongin waves back, priding himself on the good relationship he has with everyone working on the project. “But this is not as impressive as it _will _be. Perhaps you would like to see the plans now?”

The Onaran emissary already looks plenty impressed, but she nods anyway, following the architect into his workroom. The plans are laid out meticulously, and a small miniature of the palace already boasts the new addition. 

For a while, he simply answers what questions they have about the plans, but soon, the conversation drifts. Jongin doesn’t pay it too much mind until the emissary mentions in passing that, “It is good that their cities are coming together, given the fall of Tanis.

Jongin hadn’t heard how the war in the North was going since the day he proposed his plans to Kyungsoo. Dimisna has conquered a nation in only a month. Jongin can’t help but think fleetingly that two city-states, no matter how powerful, likely won’t stand up to the seasoned northern nation if it so decides to march South.

But, he holds his tongue and waits until the Emin and the emissary both leave the room before dwelling on his thoughts. 

The dreams are growing more frequent, and the world seems to have been tipped upside down. Magic and fate seem to be playing a game, one Jongin’s not sure he’s interested in. 


	4. Chapter 4

The next time he awakens in the maze, he scrambles to his feet and legs it. His hand trails on the right wall, guiding his way. The dirt beneath his feet is soft, but the memory of what had come from it last time he’d waited so long makes him nervous, keeps him from stopping even when his lungs begin to burn from exertion.

He only slows down once he sees the golden lit room ahead. He may find refuge there, but he also remembers it as a trap. He waits at the threshold and looks inside. At first, the room seems empty. Then his eyes catch on Baekhyun’s curious gaze. The man, as seems to be typical of him, is naked. 

Jongin averts his eyes, ignoring the guffaw that breaks free of the other man’s chest. The loud, unpleasant sound resolves itself to a few little titters, then Baekhyun speaks. “You can step inside, you know?” Jongin doesn’t want to trust him, but he’s afraid of the dirt beneath his feet and the monsters that lurk in the dark behind him.

He steps inside onto solid tile. A sigh of relief escapes him.

“How come it’s safe this time?”

“Because I willed it that way?” 

“Why’d you let me fall the first two times then?”

“To see how much of a fool you were. I tricked you _twice!_” Baekhyun says, padding over to him and gripping his chin between his thumb in forefinger. He guides Jongin’s gaze onto his. “Hi,” he says.

Jongin splutters. Baekhyun’s grin stretches wider and, mercifully, lets go and retreats back to the table and cushions in the room. Jongin tracks his movements in awe. The reverie is broken when the dream man pulls on a silky robe and ties it shut before sinking down onto the cushion. Baekhyun meets his gaze and quirks an eyebrow. Jongin blushes. 

“Well? Are you going to come eat, little Prince?”

“I’m not a prince,” Jongin says, sitting down opposite him and tentatively picking up an unfamiliar fruit. He rolls it between his fingers before getting over his fear and popping it in his mouth. The sweet, tangy flavor rolls over his tongue, immediately soothing his worries.

“Surely not,” Baekhyun hums. “I wouldn’t welcome a prince here. My home is for simple men with simple wants.”

“Like songs?” Jongin asks, curiously, relating back to their previous conversation.

“Hm, I suppose, but you don’t understand what I was talking about, do you?” Baekhyun says. Jongin shakes his head. “The psalm,” Baekhyun clarifies, “Junmyeon’s mother stole, the very same one Junmyeon sung to you, is less of a song than a prayer. I had created it to keep something very dear to me safe, and the woman I trusted stole it from me.”

He continues, “The Psalm of Quartz was a prayer to the God of Creation, Rahim, imploring that the god take the prayer and make it into a magic designed to preserve the city.” His voice grows soft, his eyes cloudy. Jongin catches the minute change, the hairs along his neck rising. “There are evil things lurking, little Prince, and I don’t want to see my city fall.”

“You’re talking about Sanqar, yeah?”

Baekhyun nods slowly, still gazing into nothing. “I’ve kept them at bay for as long as this city has stood, back when I was in the service of the first settlers.”

Jongin cocks his head, “Why not sing another psalm?”

“I can’t,” Baekhyun’s laugh is dim, almost unbelieving. For a split second, he looks small, broken, so unlike the robust, dazzling image Jongin has become familiar with. It’s gone as quickly as it had come. “A djinn’s magic is fickle, when she stole my prayer from me, she stole a part of my magic. I do not have as much power in your realm as I used to, my magic alone is too weak to protect the city and the people I love.” Jongin doesn’t really want to talk about it more, not when it so obviously makes Baekhyun unhappy, but he is curious. Especially with the fact that he’s unwittingly been dragged into the ordeal. 

“When the song was given to me, what magic did it give me? Nothing seems particularly incredible about me.”

“Really? Nothing?” Baekhyun says, coming back to his senses and looking at Jongin with a glint in his eye. “You don’t feel like your gift with architecture, with art, is at all a bit strange?” 

Jongin’s mouth feels dry. “What do you mean my gifts? I worked hard for those. Are you implying they only exist because of _your _magic?” His voice rises into an embarrassing lilt, his shock palpable. 

“Oh, you certainly cultivated them, and the skill is—to a degree—your own, but haven’t you noticed that the times you dreamed of doors that weren’t there, of places that didn’t exist, that, in time, they did?” 

He does remember imagining things, like windows or balconies in places there hadn’t been any. He also remembers them coming to be after an ambiguous amount of time had passed. Baekhyun continues, “And your creations? They don’t feel the least bit otherworldly to you? Doesn’t this place feel familiar to you?” His words draw Jongin back to the villa. 

The design of it _is _something he would create. It has a different flair on it, one obviously connected to Baekhyun’s style and personality, but a lot of it _does _reflect the work he steadily produces. A lot of it contains elements Jongin has designed in his waking life. “Go look outside, at _my_ Sanqar,” Baekhyun says, nodding at the balcony.

Jongin realizes with a start that he’d never really looked out from the little perch. He’d never had the thought to go see what the city was like along the coast of that black sea. His steps feel monumental, almost difficult to take. He’s scared of the world he’s going to see when he looks out at it.

He shouldn’t have been. Baekhyun’s Sanqar is beautiful in an otherworldly way. It sparkles under the sun, reminiscent of diamonds and gold. He feels a hand at his shoulder and stiffens. Baekhyun gestures along the coast. 

“This is the city I need to save, but, as you can see, it is a reflection of your world. I’m powerful in this realm, but weak in yours. That is why I created the Psalm of Quartz. To sing to your people and protect the city by having it passed down through your people, in _your_ realm.”

“Can I do anything for it, since I have the Psalm now?”

“You don’t _have _the Psalm, probably don’t even remember it. Junmyeon doesn’t either. But, you have the magic that was intended for the song’s listeners. All of it, unfortunately, rather than the diffusion I had created it to cause,” Baekhyun answers, tugging on Jongin’s ear playfully. His shift in moods almost takes him aback, but Jongin’s used to the switches now. “You _can _help me though. First, you have to wake up, though.” Baekhyun breathes into his ear, his lips just brushing against it.

“Someone’s looking for you here and this place is no longer safe.” Jongin’s blood turns cold. He blinks, long and slow.

He opens his eyes.

He’s back in the palace.

He hears footsteps. Sehun appears in his bedchamber. “The rumors are true,” he says. What rumors? It takes Jongin a moment to collect his head, and once he does, his eyes shoot open. “Dimisna is marching on the South.”

Jongin wouldn’t have imagined that happening, and yet, now that he’s faced with it, he does his best to collect himself and order his thoughts about the situation.

“What other news is there?”

“Onara and Sanqar have both sworn to protect one another, given our vicinity. Nafisa is attempting to capitalize on both sides by playing the neutral party. Buaya and Mutiara have both put together a defense that is currently stalling Dimisna’s march. We have time… but not a lot once those two kingdoms fall—if they fall, that is.” 

“Has Sanqar called on any of their allies?”

“I’ve heard that the Sovereign has requested soldiers from the southern continent. La’Youni warriors to protect our city.” 

Jongin nods, breathes deeply. He doesn’t feel the same anxiety as Sehun. He’s never seen war. Sehun has. “Then, for now, we have to pretend like everything is all right.” He thinks back to his dream. _Something was looking for him. _He remembers. He wonders if the two worlds, Sanqar and Baekhyun’s dreamy realm are connected. It certainly seems like it.

Looming threats on the horizon in both the waking and the dream world. There has to be some sort of reflection on the two worlds. Except, which world is a reflection of the other.

Sehun’s voice drags him back to the present, “I truly hope so. As is, we are supposed to continue construction as if plans won’t change.” Jongin nods. He doesn’t want to halt the project when it is coming along so nicely. Three months in and the build looks quite beautiful already. 

“Don’t worry, Sehun. Besides, we’re just regular citizens, what say do we have when it comes to war? It isn’t something we need to worry about,” He soothes. Sehun finally nods and their workday begins again. 

Three months after that, Dimisna breaks through the Buayan and Mutiari defenses. Buaya withdraws into the swamps and marshes, where it has the upper-hand against the enemy forces. But, Buaya is not as rich as the cities in the far south, so Dimisna passes them by with little fanfare.

It comes out later that Mutiara had bought peace from Dimisna and that the kingdom remains independent of the northern forces. So long as they supply the Dimisnese army, there is no ill-will between the two nations. 

Sehun sits Jongin down one day and tells him what war is like. What famine does to the body. What fear does to the mind.

Jongin wants to cry, but he also has hope. Hope that things will get better, that Sanqar will not see violence.


	5. Chapter 5

Jongin’s become accustomed to waking in the maze. So, when that scenery abruptly changes, it causes alarms to ring in his head. The environment he awakens to is, perhaps the direct opposite of the claustrophobic maze, wide open and seemingly endless. Like the maze, though, it is pitch black. He can only see as far as his own feet before it obscures everything. 

But, his lack of vision does not obscure the _feeling _of water creeping up over his toes. If it is even water. It takes a moment for the situation to process, but when it does. Jongin immediately calls out for Baekhyun. His voice doesn’t even seem to leave his mouth.

Perhaps he had felt terror in the maze as glass unearthed itself beneath his feet, but the feeling that confronts him now is more resigned. It is a dull horror that can’t quite be quantified. Jongin doesn’t know if he’s simply grown used to the alarming nature of this realm, if he has given up before he’s even fought, or if something is influencing his emotions, dulling his panic in order to keep him stationary.

Like prey frozen and waiting to be caught. 

With that thought in mind, Jongin begins to run. The water impedes him, slows him down, holds him back, but he refuses to wait for the worst to come. It is rising steadily, but not so quickly that he doesn’t get a few lengths under foot before it is too high for him to continue running.

Still he does not stop.

He trudges through the water with mounting stress. He can hear splashing now, splashing that is not his own. It has a different pace, a heavier sound. It is like a beast is coming after him. It has a measured pace, as if it is in no rush. Jongin will tire himself out anyway, the water is increasingly difficult for him to wade through. His muscles strain just a bit, his breath comes quicker than it probably should.

His nerves are making him slow down just as much as the water is. 

He blinks and in the next moment, he is dragged beneath the black. His scream, both at the shocking cold and the unexpected move, lets water rush freely into his mouth. It chokes him, drowns him, alarms him.

He screams Baekhyun’s name again, wordlessly, soundlessly.

He earns no response.

His vision is beginning to fade. He wonders if he’ll merely wake, or if his death in the dream-scape will turn out to be more permanent. Unbidden, an image of Baekhyun’s sea-side room flits across his mind. Jongin wishes he were there. That there was a door that he could pull open and slip through.

The change is almost imperceptible. _Almost. _It’s a shift in the cadence of the energies surrounding him. It is the barest hint of something _becoming. _A claw curls around his ankle, moves to drag him to the surface, but Jongin has already realized what he’s done. Baekhyun’s words flash to the forefront of his mind. What he had said about imaginary doors. Seamless creations coming to be simply because Jongin imagined them.

He reaches out, stretching, searching, begging that he is right. His fingers curl around the brassy handle of a hatch. Whatever beast intends to drag him to the surface gives him the weight to pull the door open. 

The rush of water is too much for the beast to handle. Jongin _whooshes _through the door with a torrent of it following him. The hatch bangs shut behind him and then begins to rattle, thudding as heavy blows are delivered upon it. 

As Jongin chokes and coughs up the water in his lungs, Baekhyun—soaked by Jongin’s unexpected entrance—wills the hatch to disappear. Jongin watches it fade with teary eyes, greedily sucking air into his lungs. 

Baekhyun turns to him and snaps his fingers. His magic invades Jongin’s body, but collects the water in the mortal’s lungs and hurls it out of his throat. Jongin trembles with exertion—shock as well—and rests his head back down on the ground. Baekhyun kneels beside him, cards his fingers into Jongin’s hair and yanks him up. Jongin winces. Immediately, Baekhyun’s grip relaxes. He takes in a shaky breath. 

“I thought I told you to be careful?”

“You did, but I didn’t have much choice. I tried calling out for you, but-“ Baekhyun pulls him close, wraps him in his arms and runs his hand up Jongin’s nape, burying it in his hair.

“I didn’t hear you,” He says in the barest of whispers. “I’m supposed to be able to tell when you come into my realm. I couldn’t.” He’s shaking, Jongin realizes with surprise. “I’m the one who began coaxing you into this realm and now I can’t even protect you from the others. My god.” 

Jongin pushes himself back, just enough so that he can look into Baekhyun’s eyes. The haughty man looks all too concerned, all too serious. Jongin instinctively places his hand at Baekhyun’s cheek. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s all right. When did you start liking me so much?”

“From the moment you ended up with my damn magic I’ve had to love you,” Baekhyun sighs, smiling sadly. The revelation almost takes him aback—even still, it is sudden. Then he remembers that Baekhyun had known his name since the beginning and still chose not to exert any power over him. Still chose not to influence him unfairly.

Perhaps, Baekhyun _had _been fond of him all along. The idea has Jongin pushing away and actually looking at the man. Though the thousands of images still flit over his face, Jongin recognizes that original face, the one he’d named Baekhyun so long ago. It’s got a softness to it, a human quality to it, despite its almost divine appearance. The face he’d named Baekhyun has no imperfections, but the tilt of his lips, the sad turn of his eyes. That is what endears Jongin to him.

Jongin twists a lock of Baekhyun’s hair around his fingers, the long black locks soft and glossy in his hand. The decorations twined in Baekhyun’s hair are pretty and seemingly random. It suits Baekhyun, his personality, his nature. 

“I’m sorry I don’t feel the same way,” Jongin whispers. Baekhyun takes the admission with grace. His expression twitches, but resolves itself just as quickly. 

“I know. I had hoped, but…” His voice trails off. “I’m not very kind to you.”

“You’re playful, but you aren’t cruel. Maybe, in the beginning, but… you’ve changed.” 

“I wanted to hate you in the beginning, but it’s hard to hate someone so similar to you,” Baekhyun says, nuzzling into Jongin’s cupped palm. Jongin comes his wild hair back then takes his hand away. 

“What do you really look like?” He asks. Baekhyun blinks. Just like that, the perpetual movement of colors, shapes, images, stops and melts away. Jongin had chosen the right face to focus on, for that is the one that seems to affix itself to Baekhyun’s identity now that he’s cast every other mask away. 

His skin seems to fade into a simple solid color, no longer the shimmer of multiple different shades. It’s a tan commonly seen all over Sanqar; Jongin would never mistake him for a foreigner. Baekhyun smiles and that breaks the illusion of normalcy. Jongin’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the glassy quality of Baekhyun’s grin. 

He clears his throat. “If the things outside of here are getting more brazen, what should we do?” He wants to change the subject; he’s not sure he can deal with the soft simmer of disappointment that clings to Baekhyun like a second skin. The shift in topic works though. Baekhyun’s eyes narrow and his true form reverts to what he regularly looks like.

“I didn’t pull you into this realm, so I cannot send you back to yours, and I doubt whatever brought you here is going to send you back anytime soon. So, let’s go meet some friends of mine,” For the first time, Baekhyun directs his attention to the thick wooden door leading out of his room. Jongin must have never noticed it because he always came through it. From outside of Baekhyun’s room it is just a crumbling archway, but now, it likes like a legitimate entrance and exit.

Baekhyun continues, opening his door with a flourish and stepping into the archway, “Perhaps they will be able to help me protect the _thin-places _where the things in my world are more dangerous to those in yours.” Jongin follows him, reveling in the world as it is introduced to him. Everything glitters, everything shimmers. Nothing looks like it belongs, and yet it all does. It’s a type of shifting familiarity. One moment he feels like he recognizes something, and the very next, he’d never even _conceive _of something like it.

Baekhyun leads him past gardens, past fountains, past people. Unlike Jongin’s world, the streets are packed with an assortment of creatures as well as what look like humans. Baekhyun explains that the shadows of the people in Jongin’s world exist in some capacity in his, so they bulk up the crowd of what already exists within Baekhyun’s realm. 

He takes a turn away from the city and down towards the sea. The rocks along the path begin to dig into his feet, but Baekhyun doesn’t appear to need to slow, so Jongin won’t complain until it becomes something he can’t ignore.

He needn’t worry. They arrive on the soft white sands of the beach. Baekhyun walks directly into the sea, his laugh catching on the wind and swirling around Jongin, enlivening him. He turns and holds out a bangled hand for Jongin to take. 

He takes it and they both walk into the waves.

Baekyun seems to moor him to the sea floor as they finally submerge themselves beneath the waves. Jongin closes his eyes instinctively, wary of the salt that will surely burn his eyes, but at Baekhyun’s gentle squeeze, he opens them.

The city beneath the sea pulses with energy. Baekhyun grins and pulls Jongin towards it with a new type of vigor. They pass underneath a beautiful marble and coral archway, Baekhyun waving to the mermaid-like creatures guard it.

Though the city beneath the waves is beautiful, it is dark and a little foreboding. Pretty in a more gothic sense. Jongin doesn’t find himself as drawn to exploring it as he had been to Baekhyun’s Sanqar.

Baekhyun leads him all the way to a set of rich looking homes, and then beyond them, to where a palace stands. They wait at the door, Jongin’s nerves rising the longer they go ignored.

Then, the thick gates swing open and Baekhyun drags Jongin through the wall of water into fresh air. The inside of the palace is much more beautiful than the outside. It shines as if covered with a sheen of mist. A thin fog hangs around the ceiling. Little wisps float around it, emitting faint glows that compliment the natural lighting shining from the ceiling of glass. While the palace appears to be completely submerged in the water, it appears to reach close enough to the surface to allow light in quite easily, unlike the rest of the city.

“Yixing?” Baekhyun calls out, leading Jongin down the corridor and into a throne room and beyond.

He leads him all the way to a bedroom, pushing open the door with little more than a quick knock to announce their entrance. The man inside doesn’t look all that surprised, smiling as they enter, pulling his robe more closely around himself. 

Jongin bows in greeting. Baekhyun, on the other hand, flings himself into the bed, cuddling up to the other with a giggle. It’s a different side to him, a fonder one. The barest flicker of jealousy crosses Jongin’s mind. He grits his teeth and dismisses it; he was the one to turn Baekhyun down, now wasn’t the time to regret it. 

Yixing’s voice is as musical as Baekhyun’s, perhaps more so, “What are you here for, hm?” Then his gaze flits up from Baekhyun’s contented face to Jongin’s awkward one. Yixing’s face turns quizzical, his lips pulling taut and his eyebrow quirking. “Have you found a partner?”

“He isn’t my lover, Yixing. We’ve done nothing.”

“But your magic?”

“The witch, he’s the son of the witch’s son.” A soft “_oh,” _leaves Yixing’s lips as he looks Jongin up and down, makes his judgments, and moves on, returning his attention to Baekhyun. “I’m here because I need your help protecting my city. _Ibabi_ has grown more… confident.” 

Yixing’s smile falters, “Baekhyun, you know that when I rebelled, I threw off the vestiges of your power and influence. Even if you and I are friends in the present, it is still too recent for me to come help at your call.” His words recall a history that Jongin’s not privy to, nor will ever be. Baekhyun sighs, long and low. 

“If the serpent wrests my city from me, it will destroy you next Yixing. Your rebellion ended in a peace agreement, neither of us could best the other. If the serpent takes my city it will slaughter me and my magic becomes theirs. You would fall in a fortnight at best.”

“If I go to your aid and we best the serpent, I come home to a mutinous kingdom. They will _not _give me the respect I deserve. I will be exiled by my own people.”

“Then you can come back to Sanqar,” Baekhyun’s voice is pleading, but even Jongin sees where his argument fails. It’s too selfish.

“Emin Yixing-“

“I’m not a noble,” Yixing comments drily, cutting Jongin off. “At least, not a Sanqarian one.”

“Yixing, then,” Jongin corrects, “People like me need your help as well. More than Baekhyun.” He ignores the affronted little huff Baekhyun lets out. “I’ve been pulled into this world while I sleep for the past few months. And, when I am awake, my world feels as if it is on the cusp of disarray. The Peninsula feels as if it is about to go to war, but just before my dreams, everything was at peace.”

He continues, “There’s been a drastic shift in the moods of the people. The only thing that we are looking forward to still is a political marriage between my city’s prince and the princess of another city-state, but even that is growing tense. We’ve seen a drop in our imports and exports, famine begins to touch my home, fires have becomethinly veiled commonplace. Something is drawing on the people of _my _world and we can do nothing about it.”

“Ah, but that is where you’re wrong, Thief,” Yixing interjects, eyes narrowed, lips curled. “You’re more than capable of doing something to help your world, and yet, you do nothing because you’ve not a clue how to use the magic you stole.”

“I didn’t choose to steal it!” Jongin snarls. “It was sung to me. I never chose it. I didn’t ask to be threaded into this mess.” 

He can feel ire radiating off of Yixing, then, it all bleeds away. That is more terrifying than if the man had expressed his anger. Allowed it to show. “Then give it up.”

Both Jongin and Baekhyun’s attention redirects. It snaps to Yixing. Baekhyun with thinly veiled curiosity, Jongin with growing concern. He feels faintly sick. Something about the way Yixing’s grin curves tells him that it is not as simple as merely giving it up.

“What do you mean?” Baekhyun asks, glancing over at Jongin.

“Kill him. His magic will be released back to you.” Baekhyun’s expression falls, but he doesn’t look surprised.

“I already knew I could do so.”

“Then why don’t you?” The question seems to ruffle Baekhyun. He looks caught. He looks like he doesn’t exactly have an answer. Jongin cocks his head too. If it were that easy, why _does _Baekhyun let him live. Something as simple as fondness doesn’t seem like it should stop Baekhyun from reclaiming what is rightfully his. 

Baekhyun rolls off of Yixing’s bed. “If you won’t help, then, I suppose we’ll be going. Killing him is not an option.” Yixing hums. His gaze lingers on Jongin, then flashes with something like understanding. Baekhyun whisks him outside of the room before Jongin can question it.

Jongin does not get to confront Baekhyun either, for in the next blink, he is awakening. Sehun kneels at the edge of his cot, shaking him awake. 

Jongin groans and grabs his hands, pulling them off of him. He notices with dull concern that Sehun’s nails have become brittle. His own are the same. The food shortages have finally begun to reach them, the lack of nutrients pulling the luster from their bodies. 

“Junmyeon wanted to speak to you, said it was urgent. He seems ill, Jongin. I’m afraid.” Jongin truly wakes up at that, sitting up sharply. He notices with rising panic that Sehun’s dressed for travel. His questions must be written on his face, for in the very next breath, Sehun’s explaining. “I’m returning back to Nafisa. It has made peace with Dimisna. It is the safest and the most well-off of all the cities on the Peninsula now.” 

Jongin wants to argue. Has to, “Sehun, please don’t go. I promise everything’s going to turn out okay. You just have to have faith.”

“I can’t, Jongin. The reception hall is complete apart from the finishing accents. You can finish it yourself and take the credit, but this is a dying city and I’m not brave enough to go down with it.”

“I know why these things are happening, Sehun! Are you really going to throw away the chance to create a name for yourself? Are you really going to throw away our friendship because you’re a little afraid?” He wants to yell, but his voice comes out in a breath more like a whisper. Sehun doesn’t look at him.

“I don’t think my leaving is going to ruin our friendship, Jongin. You can come with me?” He says. Jongin sighs.

He could go, he could, but, “I can’t. I can’t go with you. I have things to do here.” Sehun nods and gets up wordlessly, leaving the room before Jongin can stop him. He groans, rolling out of his bed. He throws clothes on haphazardly, not fully caring to stop and see what matches and what doesn’t. Then, he runs for the stables.

Arriving at Junmyeon’s villa is different this time. It’s been a while since he’s seen the master architect, but he knows the villa had never looked so drained of life. It looks grey… dying, dead. He tethers his horse and hurries inside. “Junmyeon?” His voice frantic. There’s no response from the home.

Hyeond appears at the stairwell and barks. His fur looks duller, more lackluster now, but his eyes still shine brightly. Jongin waves at the familiar and follows it up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Junmyeon lays in bed, his skin a sickly pale, his eyes closed, his lips chapped. “Junmyeon,” Jongin says again, hurrying to his side. The man that may as well be his father cracks open an eye and smiles weakly. 

“Jongin, what are you doing here?”

“Sehun said you had something to tell me. We’re worried about you,” Jongin says.

Junmyeon’s countenance seems to brighten infinitesimally, “Sehun is here with you?”

He lies, “Not now, but he’s coming.”

Junmyeon smiles at that and relaxes back into his pillows and cushions. Jongin places a palm on his forehead, breath wheezing out of him when he feels how feverish Junmyeon’s become. “I remember what I wanted to say. I wanted to give you something, actually. Baekhyun, you’ve been repairing it, haven’t you?” Jongin’s gaze flickers to the hound. It cocks its head, then grins, far too human for Jongin’s liking. He’ll never get used to how well Baekhyun’s expressions translate into his beast.

He thought that Junmyeon did not know who Baekhyun was. The hound stretches, the air around them ripples, and Baekhyun crafts his body out of nothing. Around him, the air shimmers, bells tinkle and cymbals cling together softly. Baekhyun pushes his hair out of his eyes and offers up his hands, pulling a golden thread from the air. He tugs, and in time, a sword reminiscent of a ray of sunlight lands in his hands.

Baekhyun ties off the thread around the sword’s hilt. “Is this what you were making when I first met you?” Jongin asks curiously.

Baekhyun shrugs, "Almost," he says.

Something feels… wrong.

“Junmyeon? What is this?”

“Baekhyun has been in debt to my family for centuries. I wish to give him to you,” Junmyeon says softly. Baekhyun’s eyes betray nothing of how he feels about the exchange. “Take the sword, it is his power at your disposal.” Jongin looks to him, eyes pleading, but Junmyeon coughs, seems so much weaker in a matter of seconds. “Take it, Jongin, I beg of you.”

He takes the sword.

Baekhyun’s voice is a whisper in his ears, a half sob lamenting his loss of freedom. Another life of servitude. Jongin flinches, nearly drops the sword, but his hands seem glued to it. Power rushes through his body, hot and electrifying. And with it, memories. None of which he can put into a chronological timeline, but that flash past his eyes all the same. He sees who must be Baekhyun strangling a snake. He sees Sanqar, or perhaps its reflection, being raised from the ground. He sees Baekhyun, a crown upon his head, kissing another crowned individual. He sees war, spears and swords leveled against two opposing sides. He sees the walls fall, then sees them rebuilt.

He gasps and the memories stop.

Junmyeon is still.

”I don’t think you understand the gravity of the gift he gave you,” Baekhyun says when Jongin walks out of the bedroom an hour or so later, grieving in silence for the man lost. Jongin glares at him.

“And I don’t think I should believe _anything _you’ve told me. How much have you lied about?”

“Enough to protect myself. I had hoped he would die before he made me give you the sword,” Baekhyun says lightly where he sits at the dining table. Jongin wants to hate him, wants to hate him and he can’t. Because, for some reason, he knows what freedom means and he would do the same.

“Can’t I let you go?” He asks. Baekhyun shakes his head a sad smile tugging at his lips. 

He stands and walks to Jongin, thumbing at the folds of his clothes and pulling him close. “I didn’t lie, _much_. Junmyeon was not someone that used my power often, though he was familiar with me. He did not know anything about the Psalm. None of that is a lie. The snake is not a lie. Our worlds _are _in danger.”

He continues, “But, now that you _own _me,” he spits the word, “it changes things. You are the most powerful man in your world. You must save this city and now you must do it from my realm.” Jongin looks up at him, eyebrows knit in confusion. Baekhyun shakes his head. “I made that sword for myself. Junmyeon made me give it away. My first weapon stolen and my second weapon forcefully given.” 

Jongin looks at the golden sword in his hand and back at Baekhyun. “I’ll have to kill it. The thing, the _Ibabi _you spoke of.” 

Baekhyun nods.

Jongin faints.

He wakes in the maze, but Baekhyun stands beside him, a swirling mass of light. The sword in his hand looks like it is made of glass, but it is clouded, glitters. Quartz. “Why did you take me here?” He asks, fear rising in his voice. The sand beneath his bare feet swims. He ignores it for now. Baekhyun shoots him a look.

“I didn’t bring you here. Only followed. You’ll need me.” His voice echoes down the obsidian halls. Jongin feels the first prick of glass beneath his feet and runs.

He follows the right wall. It will take him to the center of the maze, and if he’s lucky, that means back to Baekhyun’s realm. If he’s not… at least it will take him to whatever brought him to this realm. The glassshards slide against one another, the sword clanks against the wall as he loses any care of keeping it upright. 

Baekhyun seems unaffected by the glass underfoot, though his expression twists when he notices the pain Jongin is in. It looks like half of him wants to alleviate his pain and the other half wishes to see him fall. “Can’t you pull me into your realm like last time?” He asks, frantically, as he rounds another corner. 

Baekhyun hums. “You need only command me, but it won’t help. My walls are crumbling. My people will begin dying soon.” 

“Take me there, then,” Jongin shouts. Baekhyun grips his hand and throws them into the obsidian wall. They pass through it. Baekhyun’s Sanqar is a gloomy place, even from the bedroom in the villa. Dark clouds boil on the horizon and the sea seems to bubble up in anger. Everything is dull. Baekhyun’s city looks worse than Jongin’s.

In the distance, he hears the sound of canons, of explosions. Next to him, Baekhyun’s eyes flutter shut. He looks hurt, tangibly so. Then ire bleeds into his features. When he opens his eyes and stares out to the sea, it is with hate, fiery, passionate hate. The kind that could almost be mistaken as love, it is so personal.

In the distance, warriors rise from the black ocean, their helms leveled, their swords thrust forth. They watch in tandem as the first ship in port is torn apart and dragged into the sea. Rising from the waves there is a typhoon. At its base, Yixing, the Rebel King. With a sweep of his arm, the waves crest and ram into the ships at port.

Baekhyun snarls. 

“Go find Ibabi, the Snake. Use the sword. Behead it.” His expression is nothing more than a blend of faces. Jongin can see nothing but hurt, hurt and loathing. Jongin can ask nothing more before Baekhyun is summoning his own storm of blinding light and jagged gems. He throws himself from the balcony and into the waiting sea.

Yixing turns then, his silhouette small from here, but no less remarkable. He raises his hands as Baekhyun lands on the surface of the water, upright and standing. Baekhyun beckons.

The sea and the sky clash. Jongin turns and runs. 

The halls of Baekhyun’s palace, his home, are not the same. Nothing is. The glamor of it all is lost, and when he breaks onto the streets, he sees real panic, real fear. He continues to run, sword clutched in hand, for the middle of the city. 

He watches as the walls begin to crumble in the distance, falling, falling, falling. The mass of creatures, magical and amorphous, surges over the wall even as it goes down. The people around him see it as well. The wail that rises up from them is heart wrenchingly real. Behind him, he hears the clangor of Baekhyun’s magic colliding with Yixing’s.

He’d seen a rebellion in his visions. Where, then, is Baekhyun’s army? 

He gets his answer in a pair of lions, loping forward, fire in their manes, magma coating their bodies. Black rock armors them, flame is their weapon. Behind them, a djinn like Baekhyun, with millions of faces and thousands of colors moving tumultuously beneath his skin, walks. He is impossibly tall. Holds twin swords that are easily as large as Jongin is tall.

Then his eyes, like burning fire, fall onto Jongin. “So, the Thief has come to battle?” He booms, his voice neutral. Jongin feels caught. The fiery daemon smiles, “It will be good to have you, I’m sure.” Somewhere in his words, there’s a joke. Jongin tries to ignore it. Behind the newcomer, another colossal figure steps into view. 

“Let him be, Chanyeol. Don’t forget he stolen _Baekhyun’s _magic.” This figure is airy, light. His hair long like Baekhyun’s, but silvery. His hands and feet are almost translucent, though his flesh gains color and substance closer to his torso and head. Spectral wings, what looks like four pairs in count, stretch out behind him. He fixes Jongin with a questioning look, “You are here only for _Ibabi_, no?”

Jongin nods.

Both titans look out at the walls and the cloud of dust that has arisen from their falling. “Then, let us escort him, Yifan. If anyone can kill Ibabi it will be the man who wields _his _magic,” Chanyeol says, hefting his swords and resuming his march for the walls. Jongin notices as he turns to follow that, though people have begun to run and hide, fearing the sacking of the city, there are many that see the titans and are made brave.

He watches peasants take up arms of wooden sticks. Watches them tear apart shop-stalls in order to arm those around them. It’s a stunning display of loyalty to the city they know and love.

If Jongin thought he could run away from all this, he would. But he fears that as long as he lives, this mythical Ibabi will tear him out of his sleep and drag him into this realm. If Baekhyun and his army fall, Jongin fears it will not be long before he too falls. Yifan stands at his back, ushers him forward. An axe stands strapped to his back, yet to be summoned forth into battle. Jongin shivers looking at the wicked blade.

“It seems the entire world has come out to play,” Yifan calls out, voice echoing through the streets. Around them, it rallies some. There are jeers of agreement. In the distance, Jongin watches a storm of lightning form overhead. In the horizon, a figure leaps from a rooftop, dragging the sky’s bright white bolts down with him. “Even Jongdae has woken from his slumber,” Yifan remarks.

They can say nothing more, though, not with the torrent finally reaching them. Creatures, deformed and ugly, pour through windows and down alleys. Within seconds, Jongin loses all hope for his success. If even the minions of this fantastical army look like they could kill him without trouble, what is Ibabi, the serpent like?

He cannot think anymore, not when something pulls at his ankles, throws him to the ground. Yifan grabs the beast, a manticore, and crushes its throat. His face falls. Perhaps, he too has lost hope seeing what Jongin is like. The next beast, though, Jongin is ready for. His heart beats partly with fear, partly with adrenaline. He tunes out all other sounds and thinks of the times he used to play fight with Sehun using wooden swords.

He tightens his grip around the sword in hand, the physical representation of Baekhyun’s might, and swings it at the next monster that reaches for him. 

It writhes when the sword touches it, and the sword vibrates, hums happily, as if it is pleased. It pulses in his hands like a heartbeat. Jongin once again feels the rush of magic, so familiar, beneath his skin. Perhaps, it had always been there, and now the sword is merely a conduit. 

Yifan steps in front of him to clear his way before the next of the beasts can run for him. Jongin watches the battle in awe, in shock. It seems too beautiful to be a war. Rainbows shimmer beneath every blade, diamonds spill onto the floor. 

An arrow whizzes past his head. He doesn’t even look for the source, only immediately thinks of an escape.

A door.

He falls through the ground and is deposited into the maze of his earlier dreams. 

Like before, he hears the sickening sound of scale sliding against stone, of a weighty form moving just beyond him in the darkness. _Jongin, _it beckons to him, its voice something feminine. Something familiar. He says nothing, tightens his grip, and begins to walk, careful to keep close to the wall. If he is to run, he can make a door, a window, a hole, by which to escape

_My darling boy, where are you? _It calls. 

He cannot answer. He cannot… but that voice. He’s transported back to an old place, one that had long since slipped his mind. Sun streams through the tattered roof, golden and bright. It falls on her face and illuminates her like a goddess. 

Not that she wasn’t already one to him. His whole world. She was his whole world. 

Again. _Jongin, dear? _

He can’t help it. “Mother?”

He’s struck down. A bodily action that knocks his legs out from under him and throws him into the water with a splash. And yet, while pain blooms through his body, the voice soothes. _Jongin, where have you been? Where are you my dear? _

“I’m here, Mother,” he says unthinking. Something curls around his wrist, that which holds his sword, picks it up.

Slams it down into the shallow water. Jongin hears his bones crack. The sword disappears into the murk. All the same, the voice soothes. _It’s been so long, darling, _the voice croons. Jongin gasps as something constricts around his arm, begins to crush his bones. The dark is thick, impenetrable. His mother’s voice still whispers in his ears. _Why has it taken you so long to visit? _

If water weren’t creeping up his body. If his bones weren’t cracking. If he wasn’t cold and _afraid, _maybe he’d fall for the trick more quickly. He imagines a hole beneath him, and falls through in a torrent. He lands back in Baekhyun’s chambers, against the smooth sandstone.

The small snake wrapped around his arm hisses hatefully, then raises its head as if to strike. Jongin hurls his arm against the ground, screaming as his bones shift beneath his skin, slicing and ripping at his muscle. He continues the action despite the pain until the snake uncurls, relaxes, dies. 

Another snake drops through the hole he’d left overhead. Then another. A rainfall of them, cascading down upon him. He pulls his injured arm close to his chest and grabs the sword with his other hand. Above him, he hears a much _larger _noise. It is much more chilling.

Gargantuan in quality. It betrays something of great size and of great strength. It is a singular sound, one that Jongin would wish never to hear. _Where are you going? _It asks. Though it uses her voice, it is not her. He _knows _this. He cannot allow it to trick him, to goad him into failure.

“Why are you toying with me?” He screams. 

Ibabi’s laugh has his mother’s voice. Slowly, like honey, the snake begins to drop through the hole in the ceiling. Its scales are dark and black, glinting in the light. It moves fluidly, reminds Jongin of a dancer, and it slides through the hole in the ceiling, seemingly with no end. 

Until finally, finally, the great cobra’s head falls through and rears up, towering over Jongin. Behind him, water flows over the balcony, a tsunami of a wave breaking over the walls of the city, dashing against the cliffs. He steps back and glances behind him, watches as Baekhyun strikes down the next torrential wave, splitting it in half, sending it back towards Yixing. 

The world lights up again, a flicker of lightening, a crack, a boom, a wail. Jongin looks back towards the Serpent and screams. It strikes forward, and he can only think of one thing: escape.

A door opens beneath him and he falls through. This time, though, he’s prepared. He imagined this would happen. He’s back in the maze, and though pain lances through his body, he has a plan now. 

He’s been able to open doors in the maze before, so why not raise up walls in the maze? Baekhyun had implied previously that the maze is beyond his realm, but it is not Ibabi’s realm either. It’s a neutral ground, a meeting place, the landing point. 

The snake drops into the maze behind him, but Jongin is already running, feet splashing through water, glass cutting up his feet.

And yet, despite the pain, this is a dream. He can _die_, yes, but the pain is only temporary. He can push through it if he gets beyond the phycological aspect of everything. He cuts a corner and imagines the passage closing up behind him. Then he imagines the dead end in front of him is instead a fork in the road. 

As he imagines it, the tunnel begins to stretch into two new passageways. He takes the right (always take the right in order to reach the center) and runs, already able to hear the snake’s hiss, then the splash of it re-navigating towards him. The dark is difficult to run in. He feels blind, off-kilter, like he can’t truly balance himself as he runs. 

He trips often, falls less often, but through it all, he grips the sword in his hand, not knowing when he’ll actually get the chance to use it.

He rounds a corner and comes face to face with Ibabi. Screaming, he loses his balance, his momentum sliding him beneath the snake. It reels on him and lashes out. Jongin raises his sword, sucks in a breath when the gold connects with the touch black scales. Ibabi screeches and recoils, then turns, readying to strike again, but Jongin is already running again.

He takes every turn he comes to, raising walls when he can, dropping others. Anything that buys him time and helps him escape the snake.

Until finally, he dashes right inside the room with the wheel and spindle. Baekhyun isn’t sat within it—obviously—but the golden, glittering thread he had been using to weave back when Jongin first dreamt this place _is _still there.

He stares at it, unsure of why he came here. Unsure of why it seemed so important to him in the midst of all his terror. 

He hears the sickening noise of Ibabi once more and turns, staring into the snake’s cold eyes. But, it doesn’t move. Only stares at him impassively, as if it knows something he does not. Something in the beast’s gaze also reflects another emotion, but he doesn’t know _what. _It could be glee, it could be trepidation. And Jongin doesn’t know _why. _

“What do you want with me?” He asks, voice shaking.

“I want nothing with you beyond your death,” Ibabi says measuredly, tongue lisping. Jongin stares. “And Sanqar,” it continues.

Jongin steps back, knocks into the wheel and spindle. The snake’s eyes flash. _Worry?_ Jongin knows that emotion. He can see it plainly in the snake’s face. But why, unless the thread is important. Jongin’s gaze drops, looking for the ends of the thread. One leads into a spool. The other leads into the ground at the center of the room. Small fractals of rainbow lights spiral around where it disappears into the floor. 

Without thinking, Jongin slices the sword through the taut string.

He doesn’t get a chance to hear the snake’s wail. He hears nothing, actually, until he wakes up to the sound of the city groaning around him. Hyeond, the hound lies dead at his feet. 

His home, his beloved city, is crumbling. He can see it the very second he runs out of the villa. The walls have begun to fall and the sea crashes up against the docks, growing in its intensity. As Jongin watches, the wooden docks splinter and break away, their foundations ripped from beneath them. 

In the distance, the walls crumble completely, a great cloud of dust rising up from their fall. Is this what happens when Baekhyun’s magic no longer lives within the city. At least, that is what Jongin assumes has happened, based off of the eerie silence and the dead dog. If Baekhyun’s vessel is dead, then is Baekhyun?

He cannot hear anything. The djinn seems not to exist in any capacity. It is like all of the magic in Sanqar had disappeared with the severing of the thread.

Except. Baekhyun’s magic still lives within Jongin, having been stolen from the djinn years ago. 

Without thinking. Jongin’s mouth opens, and he sings.

The words aren’t a language he knows. The tune isn’t familiar. However, the cadence and tone carries. He pours out his longing—for his mother, for his friends, for his roots. He pours out his dreams and his pride—the palace build, his long abandoned love of dancing. He pours out his frustrations and his desires—Baekhyun.

His singing slowly turns to sobbing. Quiet in the echoes and ruins of the city around him. His tears slide down his cheeks, glimmering and sparkling, as if he cries liquid diamonds. 

They trickle past his fingers, run in rivulets down his arm. And in their wake, his skin seems to color, sparkle, shift. Where his tears fall, he hears soft beats of music. Where his tears fall, some color seems to return to his world. 

“You are an architect, are you not?” A voice, clipped and cool.

He turns, gaping at the speaker. Baekhyun, in his mortal form, is very different from how he typically appears. Where the djinn’s smile might have looked cruel and manipulative in his realm, it looks playful, mischievous here. His skin is tanned, a few shades lighter than Jongin’s, and it bears subtle imperfections—scars, moles, freckles. His hair is tied back, though two long wisps frame his face, and is still decorated with jewelry. 

He wears an outfit more fit for a common man than for the wealthy. A plain tunic, coarse and simple. Pants that are well fit, but nothing tailored. Boots that are scuffed and worn.

“Again, you are an architect are you not?” He repeats, forcing Jongin out of his stupor. Jongin nods wordlessly, mouth still hanging open as if he’s just seen a ghost. “Then use the gift you stole. How do you think I built my city?”

He gasps, then turns to look at the crumbling city. He can see the ocean rushing through the streets. Baekhyun notices too. He says nothing, waiting patiently for Jongin to finally begin to do what he was destined to the minute he received Baekhyun’s magic.

He begins to build. Imagines the water getting forced back out to its place. He sees the docks back where they used to be. And as they begin to repair, he moves on, and begins to rebuild the rest of the city as he remembers it—as he dreamed it could have been. 

And all the while, Baekhyun watches silently. 

At the end of it all, Jongin is drained. He is also very much alone aside from the djinn. He turns then, a question on his lips. 

“I need my magic back if the balance is to be restored.”

Jongin turns, “How?”

“You can become like me,” he states. “You can be bound to my realm, free to visit this one, but a permanent fixture of my domain.”

Silence.

“My magic will become our magic. Belonging to neither of us, enslaving neither of us. It will be ours.”

“Like a seal of marriage.”

Baekhyun’s lip twitches playfully, and he nods, “Perhaps. If that’s what you humans would call it?” He schools his expression again, “If the balance is restored, the discord Ibabi sowed will be as if it never existed. The two cities will repair, will feed each other once more.”

Jongin looks around and then… he nods.

Baekhyun reaches out and takes him by the hand. His vision cedes and Jongin feels as if he has been put to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

When he opens his eyes, and is welcomed by the sight of millions of colors. As his vision clears, he sits up. Next to him, a golden tanned body slumbers, his hair wild and unruly, fanning across the many pillows in the bed.

It seems to feel Jongin’s gaze on it, because it turns over and blinks open its eyes. Jongin meets Baekhyun’s gaze unsteadily. “Thank you,” Baekhyun breathes, reaching forward to place one delicate hand against Jongin’s cheek. “For returning magic to me,” he clarifies. Then, he grows quiet, wiping the tear away from Jongin’s face.

“I’m sorry you have to experience eternity,” he says even more quietly. Jongin’s lip quivers. He looks down at his hands. They don’t look as they always did. Now they are made of glass and color, quartz instead of bone, water instead of blood. He can only imagine what the rest of his body looks like. “At times it is lonesome. Sometimes, it’ll be your greatest desire to be human, to be mortal, once more.” He pets Jongin’s skin softly, his eyes sad.

Where Baekhyun desired freedom above all, Jongin had always valued his humanity, and though willingly, he’s been stripped of it.

Then, he looks around, takes in the gleaming walls. Baekhyun’s realm appears untouched. 

Baekhyun clears his throat. “By severing the thread, you caused Raqnas, _my _realm, to die, and Ibabi was left without a place of being. She has simply ceased to exist.”

“I thought you said both cities would have to rebuild once we shared our magic. This place doesn’t even look damaged…”

“Time passes differently here and there,” Baekhyun amends, explaining the perfection of the city outside.

Baekhyun cards his fingers through Jongin’s hair, twists it around his fingers, then, “You were out longer than I; your body had to recover from the transformation into my kind,” he pauses, “I made sure to keep an eye on your friends. The Nafisee boy made it back to his homeland. He hasn’t had the best of luck since getting back, but one of my friends in that city has taken a liking to him.”

“Who?”

“You might have met him during the battle. He seemed to know you. Chanyeol?”

Jongin’s mind flashes back to the fiery djinn from the battle, with his lions and axes. Yes, he remembers Chanyeol. He nods to tell Baekhyun as much. Baekhyun smiles, then,

“And Junmyeon. He is within this realm as well. Like you, he’s linked to me. He lives on the oceanside if you would like to go visit him. I know how much he meant to you.” There’s a slight bitterness to Baekhyun’s tone.Jongin can understand. Baekhyun was, in a way, slave to the other man’s wishes. But, Junmyeon is still like a father to him.

“I would like that very much.” 

Baekhyun nods and helps Jongin to his feet and leads him out through the city. Raqnas, Baekhyun’s Sanqar, looks beautiful, as if it has never been touched by the war, but its magic is tired. Baekhyun had expended a lot to put the city back together. 

They walk, greeting citizens as they pass by. Jongin gets nearly as much adoration from the people as Baekhyun does. “You are their savior as much as I,” Baekhyun explains to him after the twelfth person stops Jongin and kisses his hands and cheeks in greeting, in affection.

By the time they reach the seaside, Jongin has remembered Yixing. He looks over at Baekhyun questioningly. “I banished him back to the sea. He’ll rise up again in time, but for now, we are back on friendly terms. This is natural for we who live so long. It is easier to make peace than to wage war for thousands of years.” 

He leads Jongin down a narrowing path, all the way down to the seaside, and there, a small seaside villa rests. Baekhyun leads him inside. 

Junmyeon sits inside with a goblet of wine and a book in hand. He looks up at the sound of their footsteps and smiles brightly, welcoming Jongin into a bone-crushing hug the second the boy leaps across the room to him. Baekhyun stands in the doorway, removed from the display of affection. He doesn’t appear angry, only reserved. Junmyeon and Baekhyun are not friends. Jongin can respect that. He’ll only spend a little time here.

He and Junmyeon chat amicably. He is back in his full health and chipper as ever. It makes Jongin’s insides glow happily. 

Only after ensuring Junmyeon is happy where he is does Jongin get up and say his goodbyes. Baekhyun has disappeared from the doorway, but Jongin finds him outside staring out at the sea.

Jongin sighs, “When you asked me if I loved you and I said no, back when I still didn’t know what you were, what all this was… I wasn’t telling the truth.”

Silence.

“I was afraid of falling in love with someone I didn’t understand. Didn’t trust. I trust you now,” Jongin says softly.

Baekhyun’s laugh is bright, twinkling. 

“Then perhaps our eternity won’t be all that lonely,” Baekhyun turns, grinning, and holds out his arms. Jongin steps forward into them, letting Baekhyun fold him into his embrace.

“I’ll show you the world, Jongin. Magic opens many doors.”

“I’d like that.” Then, “thank you.”

Baekhyun laughs again, and Jongin can’t help it, meeting his lips in a kiss as sweet as candy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/sophluorescent)


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